


Flutter Your Wings, Flutter My Heart

by butterflyslinky



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Alien Biology, Kidnapping, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Torture, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:47:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24897166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterflyslinky/pseuds/butterflyslinky
Summary: Sometimes, being a superhero is awesome.Sometimes, it's just really, really weird.This falls under the really, really weird category.
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 14
Kudos: 147
Collections: Superbat Reverse Bang 2020





	Flutter Your Wings, Flutter My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Superbat Reverse Big Bang, for the art by [androbeaurepaire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/androbeaurepaire/pseuds/androbeaurepaire) [here.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24897622)

Some things, Batman decided, make being a superhero worthwhile.

Other things make being a superhero so goddamn weird that he wondered why he bothered. This was one of those things.

Okay, so it hadn’t started that way. A distress call from Superman, a routine mission, a lunatic scientist/businessman/politician/whatever. That was normal. And Batman always loved a chance to help Superman, to prove that while Supes might have been the strongest and most powerful, Batman had skills he didn’t. Skills like a degree in chemistry. That was one thing that made it worthwhile.

But then…

Then it fell into the goddamn weird category.

Superman had been fine when Batman and Robin showed up. A little woozy and unstable, maybe, but that was to be expected from fighting Lex Luthor. After all, Luthor was a genius, supposedly smarter than Batman (though no one had definitively proven that), and he was the type to be prepared for anything.

The fight was about as usual, fast movements, chemicals being thrown, mooks storming in. It was familiar, routine, throwing Robin at various bad guys, punching a lot more himself, watching Superman’s back just as Superman watched his.

Then, just as things were getting interesting, Superman had suddenly collapsed, his body spasming. Batman punched another mook and turned, watching in shock as butterfly wings sprung out of Superman’s back. They were vast, beautiful, blue and red like his costume, and that was when Batman decided that today was going to be a weird day.

“Batman!” Robin was fighting Luthor--and when had he gotten over there, why was he trying to take Luthor himself? Batman dove across the room, figuring that rescuing his ward was a better use of his skills than figuring out the goddamn butterfly wings. Probably the chemicals, but Superman was a big boy, he could look after himself.

Or so Batman thought. As he wrestled Robin to safety, Luthor spotted Superman, still twitching from the sudden appearance of wings. Batman didn’t like the look on his face.

“Oh, this is interesting,” Luthor said, his voice dangerously quiet. And Batman knew from long experience that when the lunatic’s voice went quiet, things were about to go very, very bad. Luthor reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small box--lead, oh fuck no--and opened it before Batman could move.

A cloud of color exploded from the box, pink and silver and periwinkle. Superman choked, his wings spasming everywhere. Batman let go of Robin and rushed toward him, unsure what that particular combination would do but knowing it couldn’t be anything good.

“Sorry I can’t see the results of this experiment!” Luthor called. “Do take notes for me, Batman!”

“Stop him, Robin!” Batman yelled.

Robin made to run after Luthor, only to take a fist to the face. Robin fell down and Batman cursed as Luthor ran out of the room. Batman heard the sound of a helicopter starting outside and he knew he wouldn’t catch up.

Which left him with an unconscious boy wonder and a bewinged and very high Kryptonian to deal with.

Batman groaned and went to pick Robin up--it was far easier to lift him than Superman--then looked back at Superman. He had stopped shaking, at least, and was now just gazing in the distance, a dazed look on his face.

“Superman, can you stand up?” Batman asked.

Superman blinked, then started giggling uncontrollably. “Bats,” he said. “I got wings again.” The giggling increased, starting to verge into hysteria.

“You mean this happened before?” Batman asked.

“Why not?” Superman said, his words slurring. “Caterpillars can do it...and I’m Superman. I can do anything.”

“Can you stand up?” Batman repeated, slowly, as though speaking to a child.

Superman’s wings started to flutter, then beat, then he lifted off the ground. “This is fun,” he said. “Batman, I’m flying!”

“You can fly anyway,” Batman said drily. “What do you even need wings for?”

“Cause they’re purdy!” Superman grinned. “Just like you!”

“That’s it.” Batman slung Robin over his shoulder and produced a Bat-grapple. “Superman, hold still.”

“What? Why?”

“Just...trust me.”

Superman did so. Batman tossed his grapple and easily looped it around Superman’s waist. Superman yelped as Batman dragged him down to the ground, though he smiled again once Batman had a firm grip on him.

“Should’ve suspected you’d be into that sort of thing,” Superman purred. He leaned toward Batman. “Now take the cowl off and…”

“You’re drugged,” Batman said shortly. “And I’m carrying an unconscious child. We’re not doing anything right now.”

“But Bruuu---”

Batman glared. “Shut. Up.”

Superman fell silent, though he was pouting as Batman dragged him out of the warehouse and shoved him into the Batmobile. The wings got a bit in the way, hitting the ceiling, but Superman was at least being somewhat cooperative, especially once Batman tossed Robin in next to him.

“Hold onto him,” he ordered. Superman obeyed, though he was still giggling a lot. Batman gritted his teeth as he got into the driver’s seat and drove home, trying to ignore Superman’s rambling about the pretty lights and buildings as they drove back to the Batcave.

They arrived fairly quickly, though Robin was stirring when Batman opened the back of the car.

“How are you, chum?” Batman asked gently.

“‘M okay,” Robin mumbled. He managed to get out of the car on his own power, which was a good sign.

“Have Alfred give you a concussion check-up,” Batman ordered. “Come on, Clark...let’s go see what’s going on with you.”

Superman didn’t put up much resistance as Bruce guided him to the lab, though his wings were fluttering excitedly and he got very handsy on the way. Bruce pulled off his cowl once they got to the lab, which seemed to make Clark more excited.

“Sit,” Bruce ordered. Clark obeyed at once, though he was extremely squirmy. “Arm,” Bruce commanded. Clark presented it and managed to stay still just long enough to let Bruce draw a blood sample.

“I don’t know what to do with this,” Bruce admitted. He had studied some Kryptonian physiology, but he was by no means an expert, especially when it came to a kryptonite cocktail like Luthor had released.

Clark was not helpful. He turned his head as though he suddenly sensed something. “Are those cookies?” he asked in the tone of a child.

“Probably,” Bruce said. “Alfred usually bakes about this time.”

Clark started to get up. Bruce pushed him back down. “You’re not going anywhere until I figure out how to neutralize the kryptonite and get rid of the goddamn unnecessary butterfly wings.”

“But they’re pretty!” Clark protested. “I like having ‘em.”

Bruce closed his eyes and counted to ten. It was a method he had been trying with Dick, and so far it seemed to work better than primal scream therapy. He did admit, the wings were pretty, but they also took up a lot more space than was strictly necessary for something that was completely ornamental. “Fine, I won’t interfere with the wings,” Bruce said. “But I do need to neutralize the kryptonite...or do you really want a high, uninhibited and exceptionally horny Superman flying around free?”

Clark didn’t seem to understand any of that. He just started pawing at Bruce again. “C’mon, Brucie,” he whined. “Just enjoy it.”

“Clark. I am not doing anything with you while you’re like this.”

Clark pouted. “Fiiiiiiine,” he whined, sounding more like a petulant teenager than Dick ever did. “Maybe try the Fortress? I got a key…”

“Yes. Good. That’s a good place to start.” Bruce held out his hand. Clark fumbled with his pockets for a bit before he produced a key. Bruce examined it a moment before he nodded and turned.

“Robin!”

Dick reappeared, looking a bit better. “Yes, Batman?”

“Did Alfred clear you?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Robin said. “It was only a minor concussion...I’m good.”

Alfred appeared behind him, looking unhappy. “Master Dick, you are hardly ‘good,’” he said. “You are certainly not fit to be in another fight right now.”

“We’re not going into another fight,” Bruce said. “We’re going to run some tests at the Fortress of Solitude. I need an assistant, Clark isn’t capable of doing even that, and you’re in better condition to restrain him.”

Alfred sighed. “Very well. But nothing strenuous!”

“Promise,” Bruce said. “Just make sure Clark stays put and doesn’t touch anything important.”

Clark had started fluttering about on his butterfly wings, disturbing the bats. Alfred looked up and sighed again. “I will do my best, Master Bruce.” He walked over under Clark. “Master Clark, if you would come down from the ceiling, I do have some fresh baking done.”

Clark made a very undignified squeeing noise and landed. Bruce waited until Alfred had coaxed him upstairs before he put his cowl back on and hustled Robin to the Batplane.

“Do you think we can make it in time?” Robin asked as Batman started the plane. “It’s four hours from here to Antarctica at top speed...and we don’t know how long it will take to run the tests.”

“I don’t think he’s in any immediate danger,” Batman said. “Alfred can keep an eye on him for a day or two...we should be home in less than forty-eight hours.”

“Okay.” Robin leaned back in the co-pilot’s seat. “Let’s hope you’re right.”

Batman smirked. “I’m always right.”

*

The Fortress of Solitude was bigger than Batman had expected. Warmer, too, as they stepped inside. Normally, Batman would want to investigate all of it, see the menagerie and the storage space and everything, but right now, he didn’t have the time. Unfortunately, the space was so huge, he didn’t have much of a choice.

“Is there a map somewhere?” he grumbled. He and Robin had spent a lot of time trying to find a lab, with little success.

Robin shrugged, looking a bit put-out. His costume wasn’t designed for cold weather, and while the Fortress was warm, they had had to park the Batplane quite a ways away.

There was a sudden beep and light as a voice sounded through the space. “Welcome, Batman and Robin.” The voice was rather low and masculine. “Why did Kal-El send you?”

Batman cleared his throat. “He got dosed with a lot of kryptonite,” he said. “And grew butterfly wings...not in that order. Is there a lab where we can run a blood test?”

“This way.” A hallway was suddenly lit up. Batman followed the light, Robin just behind him, until they found a very large, well-equipped and completely alien lab. “Please place the sample here.” A slot lit up. Batman put the vial of Clark’s blood in. A door shut and there was a lot of whirring around them.

Robin started poking around while they waited. “Do you know what any of this is?”

“Not a clue,” Batman said. “Don’t touch anything, Robin...we don’t want to break it.”

Robin huffed and sat down in a chair, spinning it around for a moment before he stopped, wincing. “Do we know how long this will take?”

“Analysis will be completed in one hour,” the disembodied voice said.

“And an antidote?” Batman asked.

“That will take longer.”

Batman sighed. “Robin, get some sleep before you aggravate the concussion more,” he said.

Robin grumbled a bit, but moved over to a medical cot and lay down. Batman watched to make sure he fell asleep for a bit before he laid his cape over Robin and then sat down himself, staring straight ahead and going into a meditation pose, though his mind was too busy for meditating.

How had Clark been able to just...suddenly grow wings that way? And what purpose did Luthor have drugging him with so much random kryptonite? Sure, it meant that Clark was in no state to keep fighting or try to challenge Luthor, but it didn’t really do much otherwise…

Except for lower Clark’s inhibitions and make him seemingly very suggestible. But even then, Luthor had run off before he could try to do anything with it...if he even knew that particular combination of kryptonite would do that. If he did, it would make sense for him to be carrying it, but to use it while Batman and Robin were right there…

Batman shook his head slightly. No point speculating before he had all the data, and the best way to get all the data was to find a cure and get Clark back to normal. So right now, he just had to wait.

*

Clark was bored.

Bruce had been gone for hours, and Dick with him. Alfred was nice enough--he reminded Clark a lot of his mom, albeit more stuffy and less huggable--but he wasn’t as much fun as Bruce or Dick. 

And it didn’t help that Clark’s brain was...floaty. But also very wound up.

Though the butterfly wings helped with that. Clark didn’t remember why he had chosen to manifest them for that particular fight--might have been an accident, really, it was a chemical lab. Probably a good thing he had them right now, he wasn’t sure he could focus enough to fly without them. But it was nice to flutter around a bit, and the manor had nice, high ceilings so he wouldn’t bump into things. Except lighting fixtures. And Bruce replaced those every week anyway.

But that got boring quickly, too. After all, the manor was such a confined space. And Clark wanted Bruce there, to talk about superhero stuff, or Dick to chase around the garden. Okay, Dick was a little old for that now, but it was still nice to have someone with that much energy around sometimes.

Though right now, Bruce did sound like the better option. After all, Clark had always had a bit of a crush on the man--so broody, so stoic, so in need of some sunshine. And it would be nice if Bruce had at least considered him earlier. Clark knew what he wanted. Right now, he just wasn’t afraid to ask for it.

Plus he could think of a lot of reasons having wings would make things a whole lot nicer.

The more Clark thought about it, the less he could stand it. This house was too big, too empty. There wasn’t enough to hold his interest. Bruce had already been gone for hours and would likely be gone for much longer.

And Clark really, really wanted Bruce right now.

Alfred had been tasked with keeping an eye on Clark, though given how many things Alfred did on a daily basis, it wasn’t too hard to give him the slip. Clark was out a window and in the air before he could even really think about what he was doing. All he knew was he needed to get to Bruce.

He found, as his wings took him over Metropolis, that he was flying a lot slower than usual. Probably the kryptonite. It was making everything feel...wrong. Slow. Fuzzy in his eyes, just like the fuzz in his brain…

He really should have seen the net coming. Because Luthor had seen the butterfly wings, and he was the sort of bastard who would just make a giant butterfly net to catch him the moment he left safety. Clark groaned, feeling a bit foolish through the fog, though at least he was going faster now, dragged along under Luthor’s helicopter.

The problem was, he was no longer going toward Bruce. Clark put up a brief struggle against the net, his wings beating wildly against the cords, but it didn’t make a difference. His strength wasn’t working right, his arms too heavy and sluggish to make a difference.

After several minutes of struggle, Clark slumped down, suddenly exhausted. He couldn’t do anything but wait for Luthor to land.

*

Batman jerked back to awareness at a loud beeping noise. He got up and went to get the print-off from the computer. He skimmed it and groaned; the proposed antidote was not something that was found on Earth, and the estimated wait time before it wore off was close to three or four days.

“Thanks a lot,” Batman muttered sarcastically.

“It’s the best information we have,” the disembodied voice said testily. “Each strain of kryptonite is difficult to counteract on its own; that kind of combination is nearly impossible.”

“And the butterfly wings?”

“Those were likely triggered as a defense mechanism.”

“What kind of backward-ass evolution came up with that?”

“Those wings are only slightly less durable than the rest of him, and can be used to shield his vital organs. They are sensitive and will hurt a lot if attacked, but they are non-essential and can be lost without killing him….they regrow if that happens, though it does take some time and energy. They usually retract into the body within twenty-four hours if the threat has been removed.”

“Fantastic.” Batman studied the print-out a bit longer. “Can this antidote be synthesized?”

“Estimated time to synthesize antidote is approximately two Earth weeks.”

Batman groaned. “Upload results and synthesized formula to the Batcomputer,” he ordered. “I can’t leave Gotham that long.”

“Please enter authorization credentials.”

Batman started typing as Robin stirred again. “Batman?”

“We’re going home soon, chum,” Batman said. “I just need to send everything to the Batcomputer.”

“Is Clark going to be okay?” Robin’s eyes were wide under his mask.

“He’ll be fine, Robin,” Batman said. “The kryptonite will wear off before the antidote is made, but I want it on hand just in case this happens again.”

Robin nodded. It only took a few minutes to get the computers connected, and soon enough the upload was finished. Batman straightened up and headed back to the plane, Robin following, still wrapped in Batman’s cape.

They had barely gotten over the ocean when the comm rang. Robin answered. “Robin here.”

There was silence for a few seconds, though Batman wasn’t paying much attention, as he was busy controlling a plane going at max speed over an ocean while trying to avoid any collisions or angry calls from air traffic control.

“You’re sure?” Robin asked.

Another pause.

“I’ll tell him. We’re three hours out, though...how long since you found out?...right, that’s very not good. Thanks, Al.” Robin hung up. “Clark’s missing.”

It was all Batman could do not to crash the goddamn plane. “What do you mean, missing? How do you miss someone who’s six-foot four and three hundred pounds?”

“Apparently, he managed to get out of the house...he can move really fast even when he’s high. And Alfred says he can’t have been gone more than half an hour.”

“But we have no idea where he is,” Batman said. “And I can’t take this plane any faster without killing us.” He cursed softly. “Call Lois Lane...if anyone’s going to notice Superman flying around with butterfly wings, it’s her. If she can find him, she can coax him down and keep him still until we get there.”

Robin nodded and dialed. Batman only half-listened to the conversation, though it didn’t take long.

“She’ll keep an eye out,” Robin said. “But no one’s spotted him...he might not have gotten too far.”

“Or be well out of the area,” Batman muttered. “And there’s not much we can do about it.”

“He’ll be fine,” Robin said, earnest and childlike. “He’s Superman.”

“He can get hurt,” Batman said, his voice gentle. “We can’t assume he’s fine just because he’s Superman...especially right now, when he’s not thinking straight. We need to find him before someone else does...someone who could mean him harm. And there are a lot of people who mean Superman harm.”

“We will, B,” Robin said. “We can get there in time.”

Batman glanced at his navigation screen. “I hope so, chum.”

*

Clark’s head was heavy when he was finally put down. He was too dizzy to see where he was, but he knew someone was pushing him along. He let them, dazed.

“You’re very docile like this.” That was Luthor’s voice, though he sounded distant, echoey, like he was speaking through water. “That’s good for me to know.”

Clark tried to respond but his voice wasn’t working properly. Luthor laughed, shoving Clark into the center of the room. “Arms up, Superman.”

Clark obeyed, not really knowing why. His arms were chained above his head, leaving him open and vulnerable, and Clark couldn’t bring himself to fight that right now. He was so tired. Maybe he would be able to sleep…

“Very interesting, these wings,” Luthor said from behind him. “Are they natural?”

Clark mumbled something indistinct.

“Sorry, didn’t hear that...I guess that dosage made words difficult.”

There was a sudden sting in Clark’s left wing as Luthor pinched it. Clark yelped, though the pinching didn’t let up. “Fascinating,” Luthor said. “Much thicker than a butterfly’s wings...much harder to just pluck off.”

“Don’t…” Clark managed to gasp out.

“Does it hurt, Superman?” Luthor yanked the wing hard. Clark cried out as it pulled at the skin and muscles on his back. “More sensitive than steel back here?”

“Please!” Clark cried.

“Quiet.” Luthor let go and stepped away. Clark breathed deep for a moment, trying to get his head to stop spinning. The drugs in his system were making the entire experience more intense, more painful than it normally would be, but they also made it much, much harder to get away.

He regretted leaving the manor. If he had stayed, Bruce would have come back, he would have fixed this. But now…

Clark screamed as a sharp pain went through his left wing. A similar pain followed on the right. Clark managed to turn enough to see hooks piercing through the wings. Luthor pulled at them, tearing through the membranes. Clark tried to pull away on instinct, making the tearing worse, feeling his wings break under the pull…

Luthor stopped, leaving the hooks in just before the wings tore completely, pulling the chains up and securing them to the ceiling. Clark whimpered, slumping down, unable to keep himself upright. The pain was immense, overwhelming. He was going to black out soon, he knew it.

“So this is how Superman breaks,” Luthor said. “With his butterfly wings and his mind lost to me. I have to admit, it’s better than I expected.” He stepped away again and returned with another lead box. “But let’s not draw this out too long...I’ll mount you on my wall after. With pins. Where everyone can see you.”

Clark breathed, praying that Bruce would find him. Bruce had to find him.

That was the last thought he had before the box opened.

*

“Batman!”

Batman glanced over at Robin. They were just passing Metropolis and Robin was taking advantage of the proximity to start checking security cameras.

“Did you find something, Robin?” Batman asked.

“I did.” Robin was typing furiously. “I knew that Superman would be flying south, and we should have passed him by now. But I was able to find all the footage to track him and look!”

Batman managed to look at the screen to see a Lexcorps helicopter with a net catch Superman out of the sky. “Hold tight, chum,” Batman said. “And get ready for a rescue.”

Robin nodded as Batman turned the plane sharply toward Cadmus. He had to hope they could fly fast enough to get there before Luthor did something terrible.

“How long ago was that footage taken?” Batman asked.

“Nearly an hour ago,” Robin answered. His eyes were wide behind the mask. “Batman…”

“We’ll get to him,” Batman growled. “And if Luthor has harmed a hair on his head…”

Robin nodded. It took like more than thirty minutes to reach the lab. Batman landed the plane on the roof and kicked through the skylight, grappling down fast, Robin clinging on next to him.

The lab was large, large enough to fight in, which was good. Batman hated getting into fistfights in places too small to swing his arms. Though the lab was rather cluttered, plenty of tables and instruments and chemicals lying around that they’d have to watch out for.

But Batman wasn’t focused on that. His eyes were trained on Luthor, standing in front of Superman, who seemed to be held up entirely by a pair of sharp hooks in his wings. Batman didn’t stop, just charged forward.

Of course, there were goons waiting.  _ Stupid, stupid,  _ Batman thought. He should have been watching for guards. That didn’t matter now, though. He and Robin were back where they belonged, in the fray of a fight, fists and feet flying at their assailants, knocking them back into all the clutter of the room. Luthor cursed, moving toward the fight.

That was all Batman needed. Luthor was formidable, sure, but only when using his brains. Batman fought tougher opponents every night in Gotham; punching Luthor out would be easy.

“Stop this!” Luthor shouted.

Batman only growled, moving closer to him. “Let him go,” he said.

“He’s already dying,” Luthor spat. “You can’t save him now...give up, Batman. You failed. You cannot stop me...and no one will be sad to have a menace out of the way!”

Batman punched him, hard, rage coursing through him, stronger than he had ever felt before. Robin had finished laying out the rest of the guards--an impressive feat, considering his earlier injuries, though Batman didn’t have time to be proud. He moved across the room toward Clark, locating the box of kryptonite and closing it quickly before shoving it in his utility belt.

“Robin, search the lab for any other kryptonite,” he ordered. Robin started moving about as Batman carefully, very carefully, lifted Clark down. Clark instantly collapsed in his arms, completely unconscious. Batman managed to heft him over his shoulder--not the best way to move an injured person, but the only way they would get out of here quickly--and carried him back to the grappling line before he paused.

Robin finished his search quickly and brought the boxes over. He climbed up the grappling line first, getting back into the plane before activating the automatic pulley. Batman grabbed on, letting the machine haul him and Clark back to the roof. He got Clark into the back of the plane and settled in to fly back to Gotham.

“Is he…?” Robin began.

“He’s alive for now,” Batman said. “And we’ll make sure he stays that way.”

*

It wasn’t going to be that easy. Bruce knew that, even as he got Clark to the Batcave medbay. He didn’t know how long the exposure had been, how much damage had been done to Clark’s wings and what that would do to his body in general.

Luckily, he did have all the data from the Fortress computer to work with, and plenty of kryptonite to test against. It took only a few minutes to come up with the right formula to put Clark into a stable coma, at least temporarily. His condition wouldn’t improve, but it wouldn’t get worse, either.

After that, Alfred stitched and bandaged the wounds in Clark’s wings. They didn’t retract at all, didn’t even flutter. Bruce wondered if they were permanently damaged, if they would remain there for the rest of Clark’s life, torn and useless, unable to move, let alone fly with the weight of Clark’s body underneath them.

The next step were sunlamps, as much UV radiation as could be put into the Cave without making it unlivable for the rest of them. That was easy, once Alfred had brought down thick enough curtains to separate Clark’s bed from the rest of the space. Dick was less sensitive to light than Bruce, so he spent a lot of time back there, keeping an eye on the monitors while Bruce ran through formulas as fast as the Bat-computer could handle them. Which was, admittedly, very fast indeed.

By the second day, Bruce had found...maybe not a cure for the green kryptonite exposure, but at least something that would flush it from the system faster. Cursing that he didn’t have time to test it better, Bruce passed it off to Dick, who was very quick to administer it. Clark seemed to breathe easier after, so Bruce decided to accept the victory.

Clark woke up on the third day. It wasn’t for very long, nor was he terribly coherent, but it was an encouraging sign. The kryptonite levels had fallen enough that Bruce felt all right about it, anyway.

From there, they just had to wait. Wait, and hope that Clark would be okay in the end.

*

“How are you feeling?” Bruce knew he sounded stiff, but it was the first day Clark had managed to stay awake longer than a few minutes and everyone knew that Bruce wasn’t great at emotions.

“I’m okay,” Clark said. He glanced back at the limp, ragged wings. “Well. Mostly.”

Bruce nodded. “Those were supposed to retract back, weren’t they?”

“Not when they’re damaged like this,” Clark said. “They’ll have to molt off and then I’ll have to make a cocoon to regrow them. Once they’re regrown, I can put them away until they’re triggered again.”

Bruce blinked. “Right,” he said. “Do you need anything to help the process along? Um...silk? Small insects? Flower pollen?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Clark said. “I’ll be well enough to go home tomorrow, I can cocoon there.”

“You really think I’m going to allow that?” Bruce asked. “Luthor’s still on the loose...I don’t want to risk him finding you. How long does your cocoon last?”

“I don’t know,” Clark said. “The last time I did it was when I was a teenager...my parents said I was gone for three or four days, but I don’t know if I was cocooned the whole time or just sleeping. And that just created these...I’ve never had to molt them before.”

“Exactly,” Bruce said. “I’m not going to leave you alone and helpless for days at a time.”

Clark rolled his eyes, though it seemed fond. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll need a dry room with direct sunlight...or as much sunlight as Gotham ever gets. It can be a room you’re using, once the cocoon is spun I’m pretty much in a coma so you won’t bother me. Though I will want the room empty when I start spinning.”

“Why, does the silk come out of someplace private?” Bruce asked before he could stop himself.

“You can look it up on the Fortress computer and then never talk about it again,” Clark said. “Seriously, puberty is a bitch for Kryptonians.”

“It’s a bitch for humans too,” Bruce said. “Will you need help when you re-emerge?”

“Yes,” Clark said, a bit reluctant. “But just you...I, um...don’t usually have clothes when I go in and…”

“Yeah,” Bruce said. “I get that...but you’re sure you want me to help you? I can call Lois or Jimmy or...anyone.”

Clark shuddered. “If Lois sees this, she will never, ever stop holding it over my head,” he said. “And Jimmy would never stop asking for the wings to be out in photos.”

“I thought you wanted Lois to see you naked?” Bruce asked, a hint of teasing in his voice.

“That ship has sailed,” Clark said. “It’s better to not...no. Don’t call her.”

“Okay,” Bruce said. “I’ll put a comm next to you so you can call down when you emerge...how soon should we move you?”

“No later than tomorrow,” Clark said. “I can already feel these molting off and I’ll need to spin as soon as they’re gone.” He paused. “This isn’t too weird for you, is it?”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “I live in Gotham,” he said. “This isn’t the weirdest thing that’s happened in the last ten minutes.”

“Okay,” Clark said.

“What do we do with the molted wings?” Bruce asked.

Clark shrugged. “Put them in one of your storage spaces? I don’t really care.”

“Can I study them?”

Clark half-glared. “If you want,” he said. “But don’t share the results.”

“Never,” Bruce said.

*

Clark was situated in the upstairs study in a corner. His wings fell off completely the moment he got upstairs, and Bruce had been very quick at taking them out and closing the door. Bruce had stood outside for a while, listening, but he couldn’t hear much other than a faint slithering sound, presumably silk being spun. He took the old wings downstairs and put them in one of his deeper labs, then waited another hour for good measure before going back into the study.

Sure enough, there was a very large cocoon next to the window, tenuously connected to a convenient hook in the ceiling. It looked very much like a butterfly chrysalis, only six feet high. Bruce hesitated, then laid a hand very gently on the silk. “I’ll protect you,” he whispered, though he knew Clark couldn’t hear him.

After that, things were...tense. Bruce tried to carry on as normal, work at Wayne Enterprises, patrol as Batman, family time with Dick. But there was a sense of anticipation in the house, glances at the cocoon resting in the study, little prayers that Clark hadn’t just died in there.

Dick took to sitting on the study floor and reading aloud. Bruce opened his mouth once to point out that Clark wasn’t aware of anything going on outside, but then closed it. It made Dick happy to feel like he was helping, and it wasn’t doing any harm.

“When will he come back?” Dick asked during dinner on the second day.

“Tomorrow, or the next day,” Bruce said. “He’ll be fine...he just needs to rest and regenerate his body a little.”

Dick nodded. “I just want things to be okay again,” he said.

“I know,” Bruce said. “Just be patient.”

*

Bruce might have been hovering just a bit at the end of the third day. No. Not hovering. Working, in his study, where he always worked. Admittedly, it was very late at night, Dick already in bed. Bruce had taken the night off patrol, the Batphone turned on in case of emergency, but that was because the city had been quiet lately. Not because he was worried.

Okay, he was. He missed Clark, which was weird, because it had only been a few days. They’d been apart longer before. But before, Clark was only a shout away, always ready to come to Bruce’s aid, or just hang out. It was so strange, knowing he couldn’t just call out and have Clark there in seconds, even though Clark was only a few feet away.

The truth was, Bruce didn’t even want him that far away, not when he couldn’t reach him. Touch him, comfort him. Bruce realized with a start that he wanted Clark, in his arms, in his life. Even once this was over, he wanted Clark to stay. He wanted…

He wanted. And Batman couldn’t want things. Especially not something as impossible as this.

But...

It was nearing midnight when Bruce heard a ripping sound from the corner. He was on his feet at once, hurrying over as the cocoon split open. He caught Clark as he fell, a new pair of wings on his back. These were a bit smaller than the old ones, a little less bright, but Bruce wasn’t sure if that was just how they would be or if they would grow and deepen in color over time.

Clark’s eyes were closed, his skin slightly damp. Bruce carefully took him to the couch and set him down, making sure the new wings weren’t rubbing against the leather too much.

“Clark?” he said.

“Hm?” Clark’s eyes fluttered open. “Oh...hey.”

“What do you need?”

“Food,” Clark said. “Something with a lot of sugar...then probably a shower.” He glanced down. “Sorry about the couch.”

“I can have it recovered,” Bruce said. He pulled out his phone and texted Alfred to bring up the rest of the night’s dessert.

Clark leaned back, breathing deeply. Bruce hesitated, then reached out and took his hand. “Are you really okay?”

“Yeah,” Clark said. He glanced back at the new wings. “They aren’t as well-developed as I’d like.”

“Give them time,” Bruce said. “And if they don’t get to the right size, we can do some more research.”

“Yeah,” Clark said. He tugged a throw blanket off the back of the couch onto himself. “That was a lot more draining than I remember.”

“You’re older,” Bruce pointed out. “And it was a pretty traumatic experience.”

“I barely remember most of it,” Clark said.

“You were drugged,” Bruce said. “But your body remembers.”

Clark nodded. They were quiet for a while before Alfred came in, a large bowl of trifle in hand. Clark managed to sit up and ate the entire thing, slowly but gaining a bit of energy. Bruce knelt next to him, just waiting.

Finally, Clark set the bowl aside. Alfred had discreetly gone and fetched a pair of sweatpants for him, so Clark dressed and let Bruce half-carry him to the shower. Once there, Bruce paused. “Do you need me to help you?”

“I might fall asleep,” Clark said, blushing. “I’m sorry to be such a burden…”

“You aren’t,” Bruce said. “You’re my friend...I want to help you.” He turned on the water, hot and soothing, and got Clark undressed. “Can your wings get wet?”

“Better not,” Clark said. “They’re really sensitive and I don’t want them to disintegrate and make me do all this again.”

Bruce nodded. It took a bit of negotiation to get Clark under the water with his wings still dry, but they managed it. Bruce hesitated, then pulled off his shirt and stepped over, picking up a cloth. Clark barely moved, letting Bruce wash the residue of the cocoon off him. He was clearly fading fast; by the time they were finished, Bruce was practically holding him up. He got Clark out of the shower and dried him off. He considered a moment, but didn’t bother to redress him, just wrapped Clark in a towel and picked him up and carried him into the bedroom. That was always a difficult task, made more difficult by the wings getting in the way.

“They’ll go away soon,” Clark mumbled.

“They’re beautiful,” Bruce said. He laid Clark down on the bed. Clark shifted to lie on his stomach. Bruce smiled and carefully laid a blanket down on him, just up to the waist. “Are you warm enough?”

“Mhm,” Clark hummed. His eyes were closed and he was quickly asleep. Bruce sat down next to him, just watching him. Clark was so beautiful, tanned skin and long eyelashes, and wings, god the wings. Bruce wanted nothing more than to touch him, but he didn’t. He just watched Clark breathe, finally sure everything was okay.

*

Clark woke late the next morning, feeling very content and a lot more put-together than he had in days. He sat up carefully, feeling his wings finally retract into his back.

Bruce was sitting in an armchair next to him, fast asleep. Clark smiled fondly, watching him. Bruce had been so good to him over the last two weeks, taking care of Clark long after he didn’t need to. Then again, Clark had been pretty weak after his metamorphosis. He knew he would have been fine eventually, but Bruce did make it easier.

Bruce stirred a bit and opened his eyes. “You’re awake.”

“Yeah,” Clark said. “Great solve, detective.”

Bruce rolled his eyes a bit. “Wings okay?”

“They finally retracted,” Clark said. “So I can function again.”

“Shame,” Bruce said. “They really are pretty.”

“I can bring them back out,” Clark said. “Sometime.”

“Don’t strain yourself,” Bruce said.

They were quiet for a bit before Clark stretched. “I’ll get out of your hair today,” he said. “I know I’m not great company lately.”

“You’re…” Bruce stopped. “No, it was shit,” he said. “But...you don’t have to rush out. I want to make sure you’re okay...Dick will want to see you, at least.”

“Bruce, you don’t need to pretend,” Clark said. “I know you hate...people. Feelings. That sort of thing.”

“I’m not…you’ve got it wrong.”

“Do I?” Clark asked. “You do your duty...I’m not going to force you to do more. I know that you’ve had to put a lot of your own life on hold for me already.”

“I wanted to,” Bruce said. “I didn’t just...Clark, I wanted to save you. I was so scared...when he had you...and you got hurt because I wasn’t here. I never wanted that to happen.”

“Bruce…”

“We came to save you because we care about you, not because it was duty,” Bruce said. “Dick and I...we came to save you because we love you.”

Clark stared, silent. The idea of it...Bruce meant it in a friendly way. He had to. There was no way…

But Bruce was looking at him, and that look was so intense, so much more than the Bat usually expressed. And Clark thought back and realized, in the years he had known Bruce, the love word had never come up once.

“Bruce,” he said. “I…”

“You don’t have to answer,” Bruce said. “Just...you can stay. As long as you want. I...I want you to stay.”

Clark considered his options for half a second before he leaned forward and kissed Bruce soundly. Bruce’s eyes widened for a second before he kissed back, reaching out. Unfortunately, the angle was not very conducive and Bruce ended up falling off the chair. Clark pulled back, trying not to laugh.

“Shut up,” Bruce said. He got up off the floor and moved onto the bed. “When...when you were drugged…”

“I propositioned you,” Clark finished. “I remember that part.”

“Did you mean it?”

“Yeah,” Clark said. “I did.” He glanced up a bit. “If you want to…”

“I do,” Bruce said. “Are you well enough?”

“Yes,” Clark said. “Please.”

Bruce leaned over and kissed him again. Clark opened to him, deepening the kiss, pulling Bruce down on top of him. “Clothes off,” Clark demanded.

“Bossy,” Bruce snarked, but he did pull off the t-shirt and sweatpants he’d been sleeping in. Clark only grinned at him.

“You’re not the only person allowed to be all commanding,” he said.

“Hm.” Bruce kissed Clark again, mostly to make him shut up. They made out for several minutes, bodies pressed close together, before Bruce pulled back. “So...you have control over the wings?”

“Most of the time,” Clark said. “I don’t use them much, though...they’re kind of inconvenient.”

“Think you can get them back out?” Bruce asked.

Clark blinked. “Why?”

“Because they’re pretty,” Bruce said. “And because I know they’re more sensitive than the rest of you.”

Clark shrugged and sat up. He concentrated a moment and his wings unfurled, fluttering slightly.

“Turn around,” Bruce said, practically growling.

Clark shivered and obeyed. “Who’s bossy now?”

“It’s my natural state,” Bruce said. He ran his hand gently along the edge of Clark’s wing. Clark shivered again. “Is that okay?”

“Yes,” Clark said. “That feels really good.”

Bruce hummed in acknowledgement before he leaned forward and kissed along the edge. Clark outright moaned at that, back arching back, wings trembling as he tried to hold them still. Bruce traced the shape of one with his tongue before kissing right between them.

“Oh!” Clark pressed back toward him. “There...that’s really good…”

Bruce did it ago, kissing and licking a stripe on the muscle that controlled the wings. Clark cried out, wings jerking uncontrollably. “Okay?” Bruce asked.

“So okay,” Clark said. “Fuck, Bruce...I had no idea that would feel so good.”

Bruce smirked, wrapping his arms around Clark, pulling him close, slotting himself between the wings. Clark gasped, gripping the sheets. Bruce kept kissing and licking that spot on his back, biting down gently here and there. The wings fluttered and beat around him, surrounding him with color. Bruce’s hands moved over Clark’s chest, his abs, finally down between his legs, stroking him gently. Clark whined, pressing into the touch, pleasure crashing in from all sides.

“Bruce,” he gasped. “I…”

“Let go,” Bruce whispered against his back.

Clark went rigid, wings suddenly still as he arched and came. Bruce stroked him through it, biting down once more before he pulled Clark back, pressing against him, hips moving frantically. Clark went limp in Bruce’s grasp, wings drooping down around them. Bruce held him there, kissing his neck and cheek gently. Clark made a few incoherent noises, but didn’t object as Bruce came on his back and ass.

They stayed still for a moment before Bruce laid them down, still holding Clark close. A minute later, the wings retracted again, leaving no sign they’d ever been there aside from a slight rippling under the skin of Clark’s back that Bruce had never noticed before.

“Thank you,” Clark gasped. “That was...really nice.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Clark turned over and kissed him.

Bruce kissed back, being very gentle. “Next time, we can try more.”

“Hm,” Clark said. “Next time.” He curled into Bruce, burying his face in his chest. “Right now, I just want more sleep. And maybe some crepes.”

Bruce smiled. “That can be arranged.”


End file.
